Mother's Day / Noreen (daughter)
This is for the mothers who have sat up all night with
sick toddlers in
their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer
wieners and cherry
Kool-Aid saying, "It's alright honey, Mommy's here."
Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end
soothing crying babies
who can't be comforted.
This is for all the mothers who show up at work with
spit-up in their
hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in
their purse.
For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies
and sew Halloween
costumes. And all the mothers who DON'T.
This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies
they'll never see.
And the mothers who took those babies and gave them
homes. And for the
mothers who lost their baby in that precious 9 months
that they will
never get to watch grow on earth but one day will be
reunited with in
Heaven!
This is for the mothers whose priceless art
collections are hanging on
their refrigerator doors.
And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal
bleachers at
football, baseball or soccer games instead of watching
from the warmth
of their cars, so that when their kids asked, "Did you
see me, Mom?"
they could say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it
for the world,"
and mean it.
This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in
the grocery store
and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet
and scream for ice
cream before dinner. And for all the mothers who count
to ten instead,
but realize how child abuse happens.
This is for all the mothers who sat down with their
children and
explained all about making babies. And for all the
(grand) mothers who
wanted to, but just couldn't find the words.
This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their
children can eat.
For all the mothers who read "Goodnight, Moon" twice a
night for a year.
And then read it again. "Just one more time."
This is for all the mothers who taught their children
to tie their
shoelaces before they started school. And for all the
mothers who
opted for Velcro instead.
This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to
cook and their
daughters to sink a jump shot.
This is for every mother whose head turns
automatically when a little
voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even though they know
their own
offspring are at home -- or even away at college - or
married.
This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to
school with
stomachaches assuring them they'd be just FINE once
they got there, only
to get calls from the school nurse an hour later
asking them to please
pick them up. Right away.
This is for mothers whose children have gone astray,
who can't find the
words to reach them.
This is for all the step-mothers who raised another
woman's child or
children, and gave their time, attention, and love...
sometimes totally
unappreciated!
For all the mothers who bite their lips until they
bleed when their
14-year-olds dye their hair green.
For all the mothers of the victims of recent school
shootings, and the
mothers of those who did the shooting.
For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who
sat in front of
their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just came
home from
school, safely.
This is for all the mothers who taught their children
to be peaceful,
and now pray they come home safely from a war.
What makes a good Mother anyway? Is it patience?
Compassion? Broad
hips? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and
sew a button on a
shirt, all at the same time? Or is it in her heart? Is
it the ache you
feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear
down the street,
walking to school alone for the very first time? The
jolt that takes
you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to
put your hand on
the back of a sleeping baby? The panic, years later,
that comes again
at 2 A.M. when you just want to hear their key in the
door and know they
are safe again in your home? Or the need to flee from
wherever you are
and hug your child when you hear news of a fire, a car
accident, a child
dying?
The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our
thoughts are for
young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and
sleep
deprivation... And mature mothers learning to let go.
For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.
Single mothers and married mothers.
Mothers with money, mothers without.
This is for you all.
For all of us.
Hang in there.
In the end we can only do the best we can.
Tell them every day that we love them.
And pray.
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This is also for those who are no longer here, who taught us all what we needed to know to survive when they couldn't be here. I love you Mom
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